Judgement
by meloDRAMAmatic
Summary: The world is a small place. Meeting a stranger who has startling similarities to you isn't all that unusual. It's how friends are made. Sometimes, friends are all you have. Sometimes, they are all you need. (Post X-Men: First Class - No Beach-Divorce, Post-Cuba AU. Pre-Daredevil.)
1. Chapter 1

_Coming out of the wreck of the submarine, Erik had felt triumphant. His lifelong tormentor – and personal nightmare – was dead. The relief was short-lived. Moira was screaming for help, and Charles was convulsing in her arms. Erik threw off that damn helmet (why had he put it on? It was that bastard, Shaw's!) and got down on his knees next to them. Franticly trying to do something for Charles, Erik did not notice when Hank reached them-_

The phone ringing cut off Erik's guilt-trip down memory lane. Welcoming the interruption, but irrationally irritated with whoever was calling, Erik was… abrupt.

"What?"

" _I need to talk to Dr. Charles Xavier."_ The voice was younger than the kids, even Alex. There was an urgent, determined note to it.

"He's busy, who is this? Is this important?" Not precisely true, but Charles' recovery had been slow and Erik was not going to disturb his rest for anything less than an emergency.

" _Extremely important. Who is this?"_ The voice was starting to become frantic.

"Erik, I believe the call is for me, yes?" The wheelchair was surprisingly quiet. It was an antique, made of wood. Erik didn't know if Charles snuck up on him purposefully or not. He handed the phone over.

"Charles Xavier speaking." There was a moment of quiet, before Charles smiled. "Matthew, it's good to hear from you. What's wrong?" His expression had shifted to concern and confusion. "Ah, yes, that was Erik. He is a good friend." Erik wondered at how honest that face was; emotions on display for any who cared to look.

He left the room, ducking into the library. Opening his book, he tried to concentrate, but realized he had been rereading the same sentence without comprehending it. For over ten minutes. When the door opened, he pretended he was fully engaged in it. The kids had had a field day the last time they caught him 'brooding.' It was Charles, whose open face was the picture of concern.

"We need to go to New York."

* * *

The drive there was quiet, but not for long. Charles was solemn. Erik disliked that look already. Charles was meant to be happy, curious, delighted – he cut off that train of thought.

"I met Matthew when I was attending a week-long genetics conference a few years ago. The conference itself was disappointing, but the experience was worth it if only for our encounter." A quick consult with Raven before they left had revealed little. Apparently, Charles had a pen-pal named Matthew that was a 'brilliant young man.'

"I had gone for a walk during our lunch break that first day. I thought I was getting a reflection off another telepath! He wasn't, but the way he processed the world! Oh, I had so many new ideas!"

Erik knew Charles well enough by now to know getting him back on topic was essential.

"Charles. Kid's not a telepath?" If Charles slipped into full avoidance-mode, Erik would have to wait him out.

"Oh, right. Enhanced senses. Extremely enhanced. An incredible child; I was late for our meeting once and he identified and tracked me across the borough by my heartbeat! He lives in the area of New York people call 'Hell's Kitchen'. Ironic, considering. Also, an incredibly odd thing to call a place people live." Charles was heading for avoidance-mode again. He tended to do that, when whatever-he-didn't-want-to-talk-about was upsetting him a lot.

"I'm aware of New York's boroughs, Charles. Why did Matthew call?" Erik knew he sounded harsh. He didn't want to be harsh to Charles, but if they were headed for a fight or ambush, Erik needed to know.

"A child is missing." Tremors run through the car, but Erik cuts them off. He pushes the gas pedal harder.

* * *

They make it to Hell's Kitchen faster than traffic or their vehicle should allow. Neither of them talk about their individual methods of shortening the trip. It isn't important right now. After parking the car, Erik busies himself with pulling out and assembling Charles more portable wheelchair.

Getting Charles into the wheelchair takes hardly a moment. His condition is improving by the day. So long as he doesn't suffer any more seizures or severe physical stresses, there should be no long-term effects on his spine. Already, he can walk short distances – such as cross a room – but any more than that is a strain.

Charles directed them to a small park where a child – teenager, but still a child really – is sitting on a bench. He could have been any other high school kid: worn jeans and beat-up shoes, dark shirt and dark sunglasses, well-used backpack; the only notable thing was the red-hair and freckles. Almost like Sean. Erik knew this had to be Matthew. They had barely reached him when he was firing off questions.

"What happened? Why are you in a wheelchair? How did you get hurt? Who hurt you?"

"Matthew, Matthew calm down," Charles reassured, "I was in a bit of an accident that aggravated an old injury, but that isn't relevant right now. This is my friend Erik Lensherr, you spoke briefly. You said there is a child missing."

"Scott is twelve almost thirteen, about 75lbs, 4 feet and 8 inches tall. Functionally blind for the last five months; wears bandages over his eyes to prevent damage." Matthew's voice starts to shake, "He's not in Hell's Kitchen. I checked everywhere."

"How did it happen?" Charles gently presses. Erik sits on the bench, on the side opposite Charles' chair. He knows comfort isn't his strong suit, so he just tries to make himself less threatening.

"A man came to St. Agatha's," for Erik's benefit he adds, "that's our group home. He must have had believable paperwork because he didn't need to say much to Sister Margaret, to get Scott. I was in the next room, so I heard everything.

"He said he had heard about Scott's case from his social worker. That he was a doctor, and that he could make progress on Scott's 'unique condition,'" Erik knows suppressed fury when he hears it and Charles shares a concerned look with Erik, "He was lying! About everything except his source! The man had his driver bring down Scott's bag to the car. I warned Scott, as best I could; then I followed the car, but I lost them in traffic halfway out of Hell's Kitchen."

Charles uses the calm-professor voice that is so effective on the students, "What do you remember about the men?"

"The first man, the one who claimed to be a doctor was average height, a little overweight. The only unique thing was the way he smelled. There was that sterile smell, like the cleaning supplies used in hospitals and on medical equipment. Except, he also kind-of smelled like Mr. Warner does, when he visits after his shift. Mr. Warner is a prison guard!" Erik forces himself not to interject, even with vivid memories of labs and cells running through his head.

"What about the driver?" Charles must have noticed both Erik's shifting mood and Matthew's rising fear.

"Tall, probably about 6 feet 2 inches. Heavy, but all of it muscle. He walked like a soldier. But quieter? Probably Special Ops. Maybe former. Standard issue boots too. He had a gun. I could hear the fabric of his suit jacket against the shoulder holster. Cleaned that morning; I could smell the gun-oil. Same smell as the first man, but less medical and more prison."

Despite the circumstances, Erik is impressed by Matthew's abilities. He wonders why someone so young knows about guns and shoulder holsters, the way soldiers walk and the particular sound of standard issue boots. Erik does not like that thought, it isn't helpful, and so he saves it for later, when a child isn't at stake.

"Erik, we shall start with Sister Margaret and the paperwork she was given. From there, we will track down Scott's social worker." Charles was already maneuvering away from the bench.

"Wait a moment Charles." there was an important piece of information missing, "Matthew, what is Scott's ability? Why come after him and not you?" Charles blinked sheepishly at Erik, sending a quick admittance that he had forgotten about that.

"Very few know the full extent of what I can do. Its' not as obvious or flashy, and if I downplay it, it doesn't even seem too unusual." Matthew tightens his grip on the bench. "I should have contacted Dr. Xavier as soon as I knew Scott's abilities were your type of thing."

"Why didn't you?" It takes less effort than Erik thought it would, to ask without sounding confrontational.

"Scott was so scared and shy, and he doesn't trust strangers – let alone strange adults! I told him I wouldn't tell anyone without his permission. Not unless someone was in danger. I didn't think it would be like this."

"Why would someone be in danger?" Talking to Matthew wasn't as hard as he thought. The way Charles smiles encouragingly helps.

"It's not Scott's fault! He can't control it, but every time he opens his eyes, some sort of ray or laser beam comes out. It's not heat, more force?" Charles looks at Erik. They both think of Alex, and 'impossible' property damage, and a solitary prison cell.

"I can see why that would be more… noticeable than what you do."


	2. Chapter 2

Sister Margaret's office was a bust. The kidnappers had taken Scott's file with them. Charles got the name of his social worker from Sister Margaret, but there wasn't anything they could do with it, for the moment. The paperwork that the Sister had received seemed very official. They took it with them.

Erik pushes the car as fast as it can take on the drive back to the mansion. Charles rides in the back this time, to keep Matt company. They had both tried to talk the boy out of it, but his argument was compelling.

"Neither of you know Scott and he doesn't know you. Even if you tell him I sent you, he's not going to trust strangers, especially strange adults."

Even Charles pointing out he would be missed from the group home doesn't work. Matthew had countered with a very convincing story about a scholarship offer from a specialized school up north. The rest of the summer would be a trial period to see if it was a good fit for him. Erik was impressed by the creativity even as he tried to convince the kid to let adults handle it. He's completely aware of the hypocrisy. At Matthew's age, Erik would never have allowed anyone else to handle his problems.

Charles tries to keep up small talk in the back seat. It works in for a little while, but the closer they get to the mansion the quieter Matthew becomes.

"Matthew, what's bothering you?" Erik is once again amazed by Charles' open heart.

"Huh? Oh, nothing." Erik can see him in the rearview mirror, tilting his head back and forth. "I just, can't remember the last time it was this quiet."

Erik wonders how heightened the boy's senses are, that a busy highway is considered quiet.

"Matthew! Is that a black eye?!" Erik's grip on the steering wheel tightens.

"What?" The teenager reached up under his sunglasses, "Oh, that. Yeah, I guess it did bruise a bit."

"Matthew, if someone hurt you…"

"What? Oh, no. You could say I just didn't see it coming." Charles choked a little, but made a valiant effort to remain on topic.

"Matthew, this is not a time for jokes. How did you get hurt?" Matthew sighs.

"It's not a big deal. Hell's Kitchen is a hazardous place for someone like me."

"Matthew!" Erik can hear Charles' distress and concentrates on not rattling everything metallic in a three mile radius.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you." Matthew's tone isn't surrender, "But only if you tell me how you got hurt."

"Matthew, that's hardly important! Also, I already told you." Erik feels the mental equivalent of a check-in. Charles felt his distress and sent reassurance.

"You told me a half-truth that Mr. Lensherr disagrees with."

"How could you tell?" And Charles is distracted again.

"It causes physical strain to lie, and sudden strong emotion causes physical responses. Mr. Lehnsherr's heartbeat spiked, and yours kinda – fluttered. I could tell you mostly believed what you were saying, but it upset Mr. Lehnsherr."

"That's fascinating. Is there any other type of reaction you pick up?" Erik was right.

"Charles," Erik interrupts, "you're getting off topic."

"Oh, right." Charles seemed a bit sheepish, "Matthew did someone hurt you?"

"Did someone hurt you?" The boy countered.

"Matthew, I am an adult and fully capable of looking after myself."

"And I've been taking care of myself for years." Matthew's chin was up with defiance and Erik can tell he would argue this till Charles gave in, "Now, are you going first?"

"Will you tell me afterward?" Erik can hear the concern again.

"I promise." Matthew does seem honest and sincere.

"We have a deal then." Charles sighed, "It's not nearly as – concerning as you seem to be convinced."

"Tell me anyway." Erik has barely known the kid a few hours, but Matthew seems worried.

"When I was very young – about seven years old – I rode horses. My favorite horse was a skittish young colt. Usually he was calm for me, because even then I was, well." He puts two fingers to his temple in his and Raven's signal for telepathy. "One day, the poor thing was startled and threw me. I fractured my spine and spent two years relearning to walk."

Erik hadn't known that. It's a bit of a painful reminder of how briefly they've known each other.

"Four months ago," Charles continues, "I was mentally connected to someone when they – passed away. I fell wrong onto some debris and had a bit of a seizure."

"Try again." Matthew said.

"I'm sorry?" Charles seems genuinely confused, not the fake-confused he does for people who annoy him.

"'One day, the poor thing was startled'" Matthew quoted, "was a half-truth. As was the term 'passed away.' If you want me to tell the full story, you have to do the same."

"Alright, in exchange for your full story." Charles concedes. "My older step-brother intentionally startled the horse." Erik restrains himself from damaging the vehicle or any surrounding vehicles. "He was a mean kid, and his father was no better."

"And the recent event?" Erik can tell this boy is going to be a force to be reckoned with when he grows up. He makes the executive decision to cut out the excuses.

"It was my fault."

"Erik! We have been over this, and it was not your fault!" Charles sounds almost offended. Erik would be amused if it wasn't for the topic.

"Huh," Matthew interrupts, "you're both telling the truth."

"The man was a monster," Erik continues, knowing if he doesn't finish now he'll let Charles distract him, "and he wasn't going to stop for anything short of death. Charles had him immobilized and was still connected when I killed him. It's my fault." He realizes he's trapped in a space with the only two people he's ever met who could see through his poker face; who can read the anger, self-hatred and shame contained beneath it.

"You didn't know that would happen to me." Charles counters softly, "And it's not like we had time to come up with a better plan. There was no prison that could hold him and nothing short of rewriting his entire personality would have helped." He gives Erik a what is essentially a mental bear-hug.

"Okay," Matthew desperately changes the subject, "you kept your end of the deal I'll keep mine." Charles latches on to the distraction and Erik finds himself doing the same.

"Who hurt you?" They say nearly simultaneously, with very different tones.

"I don't actually know." He shifts, seemingly uncomfortable. "I told you I lost the car that Scott was in. When I was tracking him, I overheard something. And I… I couldn't…" It takes him a few moments. When Matthew next speaks, his tone has changed. "There were two of them, both male and in their mid-thirties, and both having consumed a large quantity of alcohol within half an hour. One had a medium build and height; muscular, but like he only works out to show off. The other was above average height and weight, but all of it muscle. Well dressed: suits were high quality fabric. They had someone cornered. Female, mid-twenties, probably from nearby – she had high heels on and she hadn't ridden in a car recently. Scared. They were going to… they were -." He doesn't need to say. Erik and Charles get the message. Erik notes that, until the last statement, Matthew had been speaking with an exceptionally controlled and professional tone. "I was losing the car, but I couldn't let that woman be – I made a choice. So, you could say it's my fault Scott's missing."

"Matthew, you are in no way responsible for the actions of others." Erik was looking at Charles in the rearview mirror when he saw the realization hit. "Wait, you mean to say you fought off two grown men?!"

"It wasn't that hard. I picked the big one to land on and the other one was so surprised I had him down in a couple swings."

"Land on?" Charles sputter, "What do you mean 'land on'?"

"I jumped onto the guy from where I was on the fire escape. Only he was stronger or more drunk than I estimated and was still conscious." Matthew says, like a kid his age explains what they did in gym class. "He grabbed my leg and pulled me down. And got a hit in on my face before I managed to completely knock him out."

Erik cannot think of another occasion Charles has been speechless, and uses the opportunity.

"Why were you on the fire escape?"

"Tracking an individual in a heavily populated urban environment is easiest when you can match your target's speed." The boy seems to be quoting someone. "I can't keep up with a car on street-level, but if traffic is heavy enough, I almost can by hopping rooftops."

"Anyway," the boy continues, "I went after the car again. The woman was fine, I heard her calling the police."

"Hopping rooftops?" Charles had found his voice. "Hopping. Rooftops?!" And it was raised a pitch.

"Well yeah." Matthew says, "No traffic, and they're easy to tell apart once you know what you're doing, so I get lost less."

"Lost _less_?" Maybe Erik was wrong about Charles finding his voice, and Charles was just repeating things now.

"The city wasn't exactly designed with people like me in mind, Dr. Xavier." Matthew smiles wryly.

It makes sense to Erik. Cities are crowded and noisy and sensory overload for the average person. Matthew has extremely enhanced senses and seems to rely on hearing the way everyone else relies on sight. Erik wonders if that's by preference or habit.


	3. Chapter 3

In the last five months, Scott has gotten used to darkness. He's not comfortable with it, but the alternative is really bad things he doesn't want to explain to police or child services. Blindness is terrifying; Scott isn't sure how Matt lives with this. Part of Scott hopes desperately that he'll learn to control the power, but the rest of him knows that nothing in his life has ever been that easy.

He supposes that his childhood must have been okay. Scott has vague memories his parents: a woman's smile, a man's laugh. Memories of his brother were clearer: someone older, a protector, he used to pick Scott up and spin him around – 'take him flying.' Then there was the plane crash. Scott doesn't remember that. What he knows is that during the crash something struck his head, and he spent two months in a coma. Once he woke up, the nurse had to explain to him that his family was dead, every morning for three weeks because he couldn't remember. He was six years old.

They lied to them, though. The social worker left him alone with his file to talk to his doctors. Scott could read well for his age. His brother was adopted by someone while Scott was still out. Someday, Scott would find him. In the hospital, he had made the mistake of confronting the social worker. She told him that clearly his head injury was affecting him. Scott's only family died in the plane crash. He never had a brother and now he was imagining things. Scott hates her.

The boy spent the next six years being passed through worse and worse group homes and foster families. Most he refuses to think about. Five months ago, he opened his eyes one morning and the wall shattered under red light. The investigators call it a gas explosion and Scott learns fast to keep his eyes shut. The social worker (there are words for her Scott isn't allowed to use) did the only good thing she has ever done for him and sent him to the nearest home with experience handling the blind.

St. Agatha's was overcrowded and noisy, but it had Matt Murdock. If Scott believed in the God Matt prayed to, he would say the older boy was a blessing. Matt taught him to read braille, to navigate, and to never to give up. Scott felt guilty at first, because Matt was really blind and Scott could open his eyes any time. Matt made him understand that there are things neither of them can help or control.

Huddled in a cell – bandages thankfully still in place around his eyes – Scott reminds himself that this still isn't the worst foster situation he's ever been in. He knows this isn't actually a foster home. Even if Matt hadn't warned him (with panic and worry and that constant helpless fury in his voice), Scott feels he'd still know the whole arrangement was going to be bad. The grip the 'doctor' had on his arm would have been the first clue. People usually tried to lead him and Matt around, but that guy had practically dragged him. Scott went quietly.

Matt had warned him the driver had a gun and military training.

Even with the self-defense Matt had taught him, there was no way Scott could have gotten away from someone like that. And if he had gotten away, what would he have done? The creepy guy had the paperwork to get custody, so St. Agnes would just give him back. Scott had spent some time on the streets – just a couple weeks when he was ten, to escape a particularly bad home. Blind, though? He was good, thanks to Matt, but he wasn't that good.

Using what Matt taught him, Scott tries to map out his surroundings. He doesn't have the senses to do what Matt does, but they worked around that. Echolocation is something 'normal' blind people can do. Matt thinks Scott has some sort of super-spatial-awareness, because his works better than accounts they've read about. Maybe it's a side-effect of the head injury Scott got in the accident. As side effects go, it's better than the seizures he got at first, and the migraines he still has sometimes.

From what Scott felt the way in and what he can hear now, he's in an underground complex. He didn't have to walk very far to get here, so if he's lucky (which he rarely is) whatever secret lair he's in is a small one. The cell is essentially a six-foot by six-foot metal box with a cot attached to the wall, and a toilet and sink on the opposite side of the cell. The door is solid metal, with a slot at the bottom. There aren't any glass panels, so no windows, and he can't hear anything shaped like a camera. Hopefully, they aren't watching him. Scott's always known the best way not to get caught is to stay unnoticed. Being watched is like the opposite of that.

Crouching next to the slot and clicking his tongue to get the best echoes, he listens closely. He is in a room at one end of the hallway. His range doesn't go all the way to the other end, but he can tell there is a door across from him. It seems identical to his door, so it's probably another cell. In fact, there seem to be at least five more doors within his range. Concentrating, Scott can hear a person in the cell opposite. It's usually not this easy to tell, but all the metal gives him really clear echoes and whoever-it-is is snoring. There's also no one else moving around. At all. It's really creepy.

For a few minutes, Scott debates whether or not he should try and talk to the person. Eventually, he figures that these people don't care about him enough to try spy on him.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Scott damn well knows there is someone there, but Matt says it's better to let people underestimate you. There's some shifting in the other cell, like someone stirring from a deep sleep. "Hello? Somebody?"

"What?" the person – a man – slurs out.

"Who's out there?" Scott would be embarrassed about the tremor of fear in his voice, except it will only make any watchers underestimate him more.

"What? A kid? Why is… a kid?" Between the confusion and slurring, Scott's best guess is the guy is either drugged up or hit his head badly. Either way, it isn't exactly the voice of someone who's going to be very helpful.

"Did they take you away too?" It's really childish phrasing, but Matt says being young means no one expects you to be able to take them down. He had said that right after breaking a would-be-mugger's nose.

"Kid, they took you… took you away?" The man's speech is becoming clearer.

"Yeah, the doctor came and took me away from the group home." It's not like it's a secret, and Scott can deal with pity even though he hates it. "Why are we here?"

"He said he was a doctor?" Scott nearly facepalms at the man's unhelpful confusion. He tries a different question.

"I'm Scott. Who are you?"

"Logan. They call me Logan." This time, the voice is steady, and Scott feels a tiny spark of hope.


	4. Chapter 4

When they get back to the mansion, Charles immediately heads for Cerebro. Erik follows, knowing that it's their best shot at finding the child quickly. Matthew follows as well, which Erik thinks is more related to him not knowing where else to go. The kids have come spilling out of various rooms, all asking questions at once. Erik interrupts them with a pointed look, and a brief summary.

"Charles is going to attempt to use Cerebro to locate a missing young mutant."

That only starts a new flood of questions.

"Who's missing?"

"Who's the kid?"

"Where did you go?"

"Did you bring pizza?"

Knowing he isn't going to get peace until they get answers, Erik responds.

"A child named Scott; that is his foster brother Matthew; we went to New York City where they were living; and no, we didn't get pizza."

Hank is hanging back, not knowing how the new person will react to his appearance. Not that Matthew seems to actually notice. He's got a hand on the back of Charles wheelchair and his entire focus seems to be Charles' explanation of Cerebro.

"But how will you find Scott specifically, if you can see so many minds at once?"

"I'll limit my range to the vicinity of New York, and specifically search for those in distress." Charles explains, "I'll widen my search from there."

"But how will you know you've found Scott and not someone else who needs help?"

"Mutant minds tend to be… louder. And if I search for male mutants with a mind more mature than a child's but not as developed as a young adult's, then that should narrow it down nicely."

"And you can really reach all those minds at the same time?" That always amazes Erik too.

"Not quite, it's more like wandering a library and seeing all the books on the shelves. You can get a general idea, but I'd have to pick one and focus to really know who I'm looking at." Then Charles winces, "I apologize."

"It's fine," the boy says, "I understand the analogy."

Erik finds the exchange odd, but their arrival at Cerebro prevents him from asking about it.

"Now, Erik if you'd be so kind as to get Matthew settled into a room?" the kid tries to interrupt or protest, "At the moment, the best way you can assist is by getting acclimated. Hank would you run the programs? I want to do this as quickly and thoroughly as possible."

Erik isn't happy about having to leave, but he can't do anything to help with a Cerebro search. He attempts to send Charles his appreciation for something to do coupled with the frustration of not being able to do something actually helpful. It must make sense to Charles, because he receives a warm feeling of understanding in return.

* * *

Erik thought the hardest part would be getting the rest of the kids to stop hovering. Turns out, having conversations with teenagers he doesn't know is worse. Matthew seems polite enough, but stressed and worried. All to be expected, Erik supposes. He has noticed that the kid has an odd habit of tilting his head toward a person instead of facing them. He suspects the boy's hearing is significantly better than his sight and has become his primary sense.

But really, he's faced down monsters and murderers, talking to a worried young man should not be this hard. He compromises by giving a running commentary on the mansion. They have to pass the kitchen/dining area to get to the stairs where they pass the library and go up another floor to get to the bedrooms. It gives Erik plenty to describe.

Well, naming each room and explaining where the other important places are doesn't take much talking. Telling Matthew about the fastest routes down the hidden servants' staircases/entrances takes much more time.

"I can hear them, now that I know what to listen for."

"How does that work?" Erik gets the feeling that it's a rude question, but he's curious.

"I get what's almost a… a radar?"

"Echolocation? Like a bat?"

"It's similar, but it's much more than that. I can feel the difference in temperature from another person, or the way the walls feel slightly cooler than the air. The scent of food in the kitchen, but also of fresh air coming from an open window. I can hear Dr. Xavier's heartbeat, and the heartbeats of everyone else in the building."

"How do you tell heartbeats apart?"

"At first I couldn't, but after a while it was like footsteps or voices. If you know what someone sounds like most of the time, it's not hard to differentiate them from someone else."

It makes as much sense to Erik as anything else, he supposes. At first, all metal had felt the same to him. As he had practiced and grown, he had begun to differentiate between types and determine shape without having to really search for it. Being able to sense all the metal in his immediate area had saved his life more than once.

* * *

Erik directs them to the kitchen; after the boy drops his bag off in a guest room. He and Charles had missed breakfast and lunch, and he knows Matthew missed lunch at the least. The rest of the kids seem to have gathered there, which could be unfortunate given their tendency to stick their noses in other people's business.

They seem to be attempting to make food. From previous attempts, it would likely turn out questionable looking or questionably edible, with no in between. The kids were obviously curious about Matthew, but Erik was reluctantly impressed to find they held their tongues. Matthew did step in to help, citing experience in the group home's kitchen. They wound up making spaghetti, and insisted that Erik should just watch given he had been driving all day.

Erik had to admit, it's really hard to mess up spaghetti.

When Sean and Raven try to season the sauce, Matthew gives his opinion from across the kitchen.

"You can tell from all the way over there?" Raven asks.

Matthew laughs slightly, "I can tell you made pancakes for breakfast."

"How?"

"I can smell flour and syrup. That generally means pancakes or waffles, and there's a skillet that smells like batter in the sink, but I didn't notice a waffle iron."

That line of questioning is interrupted when Matthew says, "Any luck?"

"I'm afraid not quite yet," Charles says, as he and Hank reach the doorway. Erik hadn't even noticed them coming. "After dinner I'll try again."

"Good timing, the noodles are ready to be taken off the stove."

Alex startles at the mention of his contribution to dinner, and does so.

Dinner is more distracted than awkward. Raven, social chameleon that she is, keeps the conversation going with enough small-talk to avoid that. She even manages to draw Matthew in enough for him to reveal that he has two years left of high school, and wants to be a lawyer someday.

It's as their cleaning up that Matthew finally addresses the elephant in the room.

"You didn't find him."

"No, there was an alarming amount of people in distress within my usual range, but none that quite seemed like who we're looking for."

"Would it help to read my mind," Matthew suggests, "and try to work off what I know of him?"

"No, no I would be getting your memories and impressions of him. It would require an in-depth analysis of his mind to match them and would ultimately be no faster than going one-by-one."

Hank and Charles then get into a discussion relating to adjusting Cerebro to increase the accuracy and how that would affect the range. At least, that's what Erik thinks they're talking about. His knowledge of technology is primarily mechanical; psychic-assisting computers are very much not his area. They also have this irritating tendency to use unnecessarily complex technical terms.

Judging by the resignation on Raven's face and the bafflement on Sean and Alex's, at least he wasn't the only one confused.

Matthew seemed not to even register the discussion, sunglasses directed blankly down toward the table.

"Maybe try looking for someone who isn't scared."

Everyone turns to Alex.

"What?" He crosses his arms defensively, "You're looking for a scared kid and you can't find him. Try looking for something else."

"That would make sense." Matthew agrees, "Scott is good at compartmentalizing. He knows how to bury fear when it isn't useful to him. Try searching for someone who is some combination of nervous or angry, but mostly determined."

Hank and Charles make their way back toward Cerebro, leaving the rest of them to wait.


End file.
